


Foiled Plans

by foxyk



Series: Tales of the Tiger Tamer [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxyk/pseuds/foxyk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you don't have a plan, and sometimes your best plan gets stomped on by a do-gooder in tights.</p><p>Maybe if people didn't want their plans ruined they should share them.</p><p>The second meeting of Batman and Superman goes just swimmingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am looking for a DCU fandom beta reader, email me at das.enterprisen(at)gmail.com if you're interested!
> 
> Thanks be to the amazing 1LostOne for this beta, even though it's out of her fandoms!
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are mine (you can't have them).

  * It's not a blur, it's a man!
  * Central City Hero confirms: Red Blur in Metropolis is Not the Flash!
  * Bruce Wayne Voted Sexiest Bachelor of the Year Again!
  * A Super Man in Metropolis?
  * Batman: Myth or Man?
  * Superman Raises Funds to Rebuild Destroyed Downtown
  * Commissioner Gordon Denies Existence of Batman, Puts Bat Signal Light on GCPD Roof
  * Two Flashes? Yellow streak spotted in Central City!
  * I Am Kal-El, an Inside Look at Superman
  * Violent Crime Down 42% in Gotham City
  * Reports of a Green Light Saving People in Coast City?
  * Martha Wayne Foundation Gala Expected to Raise Double Last Year's Donations for Gotham City's Homeless Children



* * *

 

**Two Years Later:**

Dick sat on the cool marble counter and swung his feet idly as he watched Bruce try for a third time to tie his bowtie evenly.

"You could always ask Alfred?" He asked, knowing his own bow was tidy and even as it slowly choked him to death.

"Alfred always ties them too tight," Bruce rumbled ruefully with a sideways grin. These were the times Dick liked best, when Bruce wasn't putting on a show for the rich and stupid or putting the fear of the Bat into Gotham's underbelly. Dick loved being a vigilante (less so the rich posturing) but quiet moments like this were irreplaceable.

"Perhaps you'll find sir, that you attempt to tie them too loosely and that is why the bow won't stay even?" The butler's measured cadence asked politely from the doorway. Bruce's shoulders slumped minutely as he was caught and turned for assistance without further prompting. "Bruce Wayne cannot be absent or late to another Martha Wayne Event, but I feel I must tell you the Batsignal is lit." Alfred added conversationally as he maintained a death grip on Bruce's shirt collar.

Bruce didn't fight against the hold, to Dick's amazement, "Robin can answer the call. It's a hero requesting access to Gotham."

"Crimefighting access?" Dick mused, undoing his own bowtie with a tiny spike of glee and shucking his tuxedo jacket. Alfred’s sigh prompted him to fold it neatly over his arm instead of dropping it to the floor as planned.

"No, for the Dinner." Bruce left it open for Dick to solve.

"Clark Kent is in Gotham without permission, but I thought was an investigative reporter, not society pages.” Dick mused.

“He is.” Bruce nodded, a simple but infuriating motion that felt almost mocking.

“Well it’s not Ollie, he and Roy have been set for this event for weeks. Lantern is a test pilot and Flash is with CCPD, neither of them are the high society type, the Amazon is still in DC last I checked, are we sure it isn’t Kent?”

"The society chair wanted a famous heroic face to help drive donations," Bruce helped him out, thanking Alfred quietly and following Dick to the cave, hanging pieces of tuxedo as they went.

"Superman is going to the gala, not Clark Kent," Dick groaned. It was so obvious, Superman had been the face of more than one donation drive in the past year.

"Yes and he can only stay for one night and he can't pull any heroics. Alfred will pick you up three blocks from the precinct, you'll have to change in the car, cover story is homework, okay?"

“Got it.” Dick agreed.

“And Dick, try not to antagonize the poor man any more!” Bruce called after him.

"Okay!" Dick cheered, slipping through the clock face and descending to the cave for the transformation into Robin. Superman had a new costume and new attitude since the last time they’d met and Robin was excited to see the change up close.

  
###  
**Six Hours Ago...**

Clark’s next visit to Gotham was not nearly as picturesque as his first. overcast skies and a sharp, biting wind kept the crowds thin and the pedestrians withdrawn. Even the dogs leashed to the teenage girl with “K9 to 5 Walking Service” emblazoned on her shirt looked upset to be stuck in the cold.

Clark wouldn’t have even been in the city if the mayor hadn’t harassed Lois to the point that she bought Superman a burner phone and told him to call that number instead. Clark was surprised to find out that despite the late notice he wasn’t the last person who knew he was invited to the Martha Wayne Foundation’s dinner that night, but only because of the weirdly secret way the Gotham elite functioned to avoid attacks from the less mentally stable costumed citizens.

He was hoping to find more information on this trip about the town’s most infamous costumed citizen: Batman. Finding information on the infamous bat, however, was harder than expected. People Clark had interviewed over the last few years that had been rescued by Batman had no interest in discussing the details, and criminals he had caught had varying levels of respect and fear for the sometimes-man sometimes-beast that had led to their arrests. No one knew where to find the man, most of them didn’t even believe Robin existed, and this didn’t change even when interviewing people in Gotham proper. Heck, Clark had been laughed out of the police precinct earlier that day for asking if anyone had any details about the vigilante. Clark was stymied. With a huff he decided to try his luck at the park, hopefully the sun would make a showing through the dense clouds. He flipped his coat collar up against the chill and nearly collided with a kid in a red zippered hoodie rounding the next corner.

“Hey there, Tiger Tamer,” the kid said as he slipped around Clark.

“Oh you’re fine--” He began, having expected the usual hasty apology.

“Robin?” Clark jogged back to the corner the kid had taken, but he was gone. People grumbled as he jogged against foot traffic to the nearest alley, but even x-ray vision showed it to be empty, and all of the fire escape ladders were safely up away from what Clark judged to be the jumping range of a kid who barely reached his ribcage. He went down the alley and out the other side by a surprisingly busy bar, but still no red hoodie. As he stepped back into the alley to get out of the way of the dog walker he noticed from before had a new red hoodie tied around her waist.

“Miss? Where’d you get that?” he called out, but a sudden burst of carousing drunk people from the bar separated them, screaming Eye of the Tiger at the top of their beer-soaked voices.

“Yeah man, the Keystone Tigers won!” One of the revellers slapped Clark jovially on the shoulder as the group began making loud, messy farewells on the sidewalk. The dog walker was long gone. Only a little lost in the twisting Gotham streets, Clark began to make his way toward the park again until he felt a very soft tap on his elbow.

“Sir you’ve got a sticky.” A tiny voice told him as he turned, taking in the tiny black girl with big poofy pigtails in an oversized, zippered red hoodie. “On your shoulder.” He glanced back and saw a yellow post-it on his jacket, grabbing it with some apprehension.

“Where’d you get that--” The little girl was already darting away toward her flustered mother who was scolding her for talking to a strange man and for leaving the boutique they’d been in.

“Hey there, Tiger Tamer!” Was scrawled onto the yellow post-it note in bright red sharpie. At the bottom was a circled R in green. Robin was _mocking_ him. With a grunt, Clark decided instead to go back to his hotel room and wait for dusk to fall for the Batsignal to work so that he could ask _permission_ to go to the stupid charity dinner and raise money for--

“Outta the way, Tiger Tamer.” a kid coming out of a subway entrance shouldered past him with a red hood sticking out of his leather jacket. Clark had him against the wall by his jacket before the kid could take another step.

“Where did you get that hoodie?” He hadn’t meant to yell, but the kid flinched his head back into the wall like he’d been struck.

“Hey fuck off, pedo, some kid gave me $50 and a free sweatshirt to call the first dude in a tan trench coat a Tiger Tamer,” The kid shoved Clark back before reaching into his jacket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

“How old are you, you shouldn’t have those,” Clark asked as the kid lit up.

“I’m old enough, asshat.” The kid told him with smoke drifting out of his nose like a dragon.

Clark snatched the cigarette out of the kid’s mouth and held it hostage, “What did the kid who paid you look like?”

“He looked like a kid, I don’t ask questions when the work is this easy, now give me back my smoke,” The boy glared.

Clark dropped the cigarette and stepped on it, “You’ll thank me later,” He rolled his eyes at the stream of expletives that followed after him as he walked away.

“This city...” Clark sighed, watching as a police officer walked right past the raving preteen-- who was lighting another cigarette-- without a second glance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short, Robin heavy chapter, but I already told you guys this is a slow roll :p
> 
> Still looking for a DCU beta, das.enterprised(at)gmail.com
> 
> Praise be to 1LostOne for betaing out of her fandoms and being a generally amazing person.

The storm had been building all day, but now Clark could feel the electricity in the night air, smell the rain on the horizon. He could even hear the drops out over the harbor, too quiet yet for human ears to hear. Storms in Metropolis were as common as any other city, but Gotham storms felt different, they felt like _potential_ , though Clark wasn’t sure for what.

Standing on the roof of the Gotham City Police Precinct, Superman did _not_ fidget under the gaze of the Police Commissioner, but it was a near thing. Gordon stood in a shadow to the side of the signal, his face lit red periodically by the cigarette he was smoking, silently waiting for something. Clark wasn’t entirely sure the other man had blinked since he had landed and asked to summon Batman. Gordon had replied to his request by lighting the aforementioned cigarette and staring unblinkingly at him. Clark distracted himself by wondering silently at how the Commissioner got a hold of Batman during the day or during the summer months when the sun was up later.

“You know,” Gordon broke the silence, pausing to chuckle as Clark nearly jumped out of his red boots, “Last time you were in Gotham you caused quite a ruckus. Blew up a warehouse if I recall.” He took another long drag, “It was only time I’ve ever seen the kid so much as flinch. So here I am, wondering whether or not my lighting this signal would be appreciated.” Clark didn’t think for a moment that the commissioner cared that _he’d_ appreciate it.

“I’m not here to cause trouble Commissioner, the last time I was here I… misjudged a situation. Tonight I’m here to ask permission to accept an invitation from the Mayor.” Clark figured being blunt would win him some points.

“Ha, the Bat’ll like that, you going to that Martha Wayne Dinner?” Gordon asked, the spotlight still dark.

“Assuming it won’t cause any problems, yes.” Clark nodded.

“If he says no?” Gordon asked.

“Then I go home.” It was true, he had already spent a day unwanted in Gotham being trolled by Robin. He didn’t for a moment think that Batman wouldn’t know if he went against his wishes, and he was pretty sure the backlash would be worse than some kids in hoodies.

Gordon nodded and toggled the switch on the side of the signal. He flipped his cigarette into a bucket on the corner of the roof, immediately lighting another one. They stood in silence again as he smoked, Clark nearly asked a thousand questions but rejected each in turn. Thunder churned over the harbor, rumbling through the streets and against the windows of the buildings in a way that was distinct to Gotham.

“Maybe I’ll see you at the Dinner,” Gordon interrupted his thoughts after nearly ten minutes, “Please don’t make me come back up here and find out how bulletproof you really are.” Gordon threw this cigarette butt in the same bucket before walking to the roof access door. He paused before he opened it, “You’re not as sneaky as you think, kid.”

Clark was confused for about half a second before he zeroed in on the boy’s heartbeat, “I’m not the sneaky one,” His voice was deeper than before, it had begun to drop but still sounded terribly young, “I’m the colorful one,” Robin flipped onto the spotlight, standing on the metal bat cutout with a flourish.

“Get off of there before you break it or burn yourself,” Gordon sighed into the stairwell, closing the door with a soft click as Robin neatly tucked off the spotlight and turned the light out.

“Robin, good to see you again,” Superman shook himself into action after watching the interaction between the Commissioner and the sidekick, Gordon had smiled when he left, and when he became aware of Robin’s presence-- before Clark did-- he seemed more relaxed. Strange.

“Tiger Tamer! It has been a while since the crest of El has been seen in Gotham,” Robin framed his view of Clark’s chest with his index fingers and thumbs, like he was setting up a shot for filming.

“Did you know that there isn’t a Tigers team in Keystone?” Clark handed over the post-it note he’d found on his coat earlier.

“Yeah, but you can convince a room of drunk guys to do just about anything.” Robin smiled, hesitating briefly as he studied Clark. Clark didn’t know what the kid saw, but he accepted the post-it, getting well within striking range for most people (super speed put about anyone in Superman’s range) and tucking it away into a compartment on his belt. “That move actually got me benched, this is the last appearance of the Boy Wonder for a few weeks.”

Clark dredged up and discarded about fourteen different reasons why he thought that was an excellent idea that should continue. “Grounding a vigilante, how does that even work?” He chose the safer route.

“I get stuck on monitor duty to prove I’m taking this all seriously. I also have to wash the Batmobile, sharpen the Batarangs, and perform uniform maintenance for the foreseeable future.” Robin counted off on his fingers with a grimace, “How about here,” He waved between them, “No hard feelings?”

“No, but I’m not going to tell Batman to unground you.” Clark smiled, “Also I’d like to say that I am sorry for our last interaction,”

“Eh, that’s all water, bridge, whatever.” The boy shrugged, “Brass tacks though, I hear the mayor invited you to the dinner tonight, a bit of last minute scheduling to keep the rich-o’s delighted and paying, but last minute so as to avoid villainous scrutiny,” The kid had wiggled his fingers mockingly as he said villainous and Clark chuckled; he really wasn’t the dark one of the pair. 

“Sounds like the salient details,” Clark agreed. 

“Well lucky for you and the Mayor, I’m here to provisionally grant you access to Gotham.” Robin’s smile was blindingly wide, Clark wondered if it was bravado or simply lack of fear.

“Provisionally?” 

“Superman can be seen until no later than 3am, if you leave the city after that you do so as your civilian alter ego, and you cannot, under any circumstances, fight any kind of crime. No heroism.” He counted off on his fingers, apparently Robin was incapable of speaking without using his hands.

“Seriously?” Clark asked, “What if--”

“Look, I know the drill,” Robin cut him off, smile falling into a scowl, “You’re going to come up with _really good_ examples of times where having a preternaturally strong and fast being around could come in handy, people falling off buildings, muggings, assassination attempts, whatever, but here’s the sitch: I’m not the one you’re negotiating with; I’m a messenger. My boss says no heroics, so I tell you no heroics, and after the last interaction we had with you, I’m kind of surprised I’m here with good news.”

“It’s been years since I’ve demolished a building, you know,” Clark offered, resisting the urge to scuff at the floor with a boot; this was still a kid in front of him, he may have a few years of vigilantism under his size extra small utility belt, he was taller than before, he had longer pants on (these ones tucked into his boots and had what appeared to be knife-proof panels which Clark forced himself to believe were a preemptive measure), but he was still a kid. A _grounded_ kid.

“One year and four months. I think that’s probably why he agreed to this,” Robin stood at the edge of the building on the balls of his feet, heels hanging over the ten story drop, “Have fun at the party!” He saluted sarcastically and stepped back into the open air. Clark knew it was a test to see if he’d break the heroism rule. He knew logically that the bats used decel lines and grappling guns, but he still found himself at the edge of the building faster than the human eye could track, watching almost anxiously as the hook made purchase. The line went taut and Robin disappeared around the corner of the building with a laugh.

What was it the gangsters had called him so long ago? The Bat Brat? Superman had to agree, the moniker fit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to 1LostOne and TheLiterator for their amazing help with this chapter <3

Bruce had a headache.

Headache was a small word for the situation, but it would have to do. It started with the Mayor's gratuitously long speech for Superman which mentioned 'real heroes' no fewer than three times and lamented Gotham's lack thereof _twice_ and continued into the dinner. The general volume of the room didn’t help matters, Oliver Queen was at his table, loudly regaling the group with stories of their shared experiences at boarding school. Oliver’s ward, Roy, seemed torn between boredom and embarrassment, keeping his head down to keep the stories from centering on him. 

Bruce still wasn’t sure how he felt about the Green Arrow’s more fatal history in vigilantism, but he had proved a useful ally and there hadn’t been an arrow related death since a few months before Speedy showed up. The fact that Speedy and Robin had somehow instantly figured out each other’s secret identities had served to cement a tenuous bond between the crime fighting families. Bruce was hopeful that having another vigilante friend around his age would be beneficial for Dick, because he wasn’t going to let Dick grow up to be _him_. Somewhat alarmingly, friends seemed to be the first step.

Normally the sound and Oliver playing the part of doe-eyed millionaire _Ollie_ wouldn’t bother him so much, but he kept catching Superman looking at him from the next table over and Bruce didn’t like that at all. The first few times it had happened he’d been able to convince himself that the alien was looking at Oliver, since Green Arrow and Superman were part of that fledgeling heroes group based out of a (poorly kept) secret mountain hideaway in Rhode Island, but it wasn’t the Queen heir the preternaturally blue eyes were honed in on. Bruce wished he knew how much control Clark had over his x-ray vision, was he inspecting bone damage, looking at scars, looking at something really interesting _behind_ Bruce? 

When the meal was finished enough that he could sneak away without scrutiny, Bruce made smiling excuses and found a nice corner far from the string quintet where he could hear himself think without the echo of Oliver’s laughter ringing in his ears.

After a few cleansing breaths and a quick check of his cell phone he saw Dick ambling into the ballroom, his tuxedo neat and his bow tie clearly tied by Alfred. “Dickie! Did you finish that essay?” Bruce called brightly, waving him over.

“Yeah, sorry I missed the dinner, I know this an important event for the Foundation,” Dick smiled with just the right amount of shyness to win over the few eavesdroppers. “Did Mr. Queen show up?” he asked brightly.

“Oliver and Roy were over by the dessert buffet, last I checked.” For a brief second panic ran down Bruce’s spine as a thought occurred to him ridiculously slowly: had Superman been looking at him because he recognized him as a vigilante by his proximity to Oliver? Logic took over then; Green Arrow was more casual with his own secret identity but Bruce knew Oliver wouldn’t have told Superman Batman’s secret, it wasn’t the kind of thing Oliver did. He kept other people’s secrets exceedingly well because he had none of his own.

“Cool, I’m gonna go say hi.” Dick disappeared into the crowd with a short wave, winding his way toward Roy and leaving Bruce standing alone with a decoy glass of champagne and the floating strains of Haydn over the murmur of the crowd.

Bruce had just relaxed properly, Billionaire Brucie persona firmly in place as he flirted playfully with an aging socialite and her husband, when he heard the delighted squeal of their adult daughter, “Oh and Mister Kal-El you just _have_ to meet Brucie!” 

If Bruce’s teeth were bared a bit less sociably now than they had been a moment ago, everyone had the good graces to ignore it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr...?” Superman prompted and Bruce didn’t believe him at all.

“Why, this is Bruce Wayne; his mother is the namesake of the foundation!” The bubbly blonde supplied.

“Guilty as charged. Bruce Wayne, at your service,” Bruce dropped as hard into Brucie as he could, keeping his muscles loose and his eyes soft. The alien smiled broadly as they shook hands and the rest of the group became distracted, leaving them mostly alone in the busy room.

Bruce categorized the smile as an attempt at charm as he took in the new uniform, using Brucie’s lascivious history as a cover, “Is it true what the Daily Planet said? Are you really an alien?” Bruce kept his face blanked, staring dumbly at the bright blue eyes that he knew could shear a car in two. He was just as broad as two years prior, but the blue spandexy material better showed the play of muscles across his chest and abs. A slash of red broke the solid line of blue from shoulder to boot top as a pair of tiny red shorts-- about as long as the green ones from Robin’s old uniform-- covered his groin. The fabric of the shorts was thicker than the rest of the jumpsuit and clearly designed to add a sense of decency to the otherwise skin-tight uniform.

“Yes, I am, but I was raised in America,” Superman’s tone was proud, like he’d chosen the midwest instead of falling there haphazardly. 

Bruce stepped into Superman’s space, “Hmm. I wonder... How do you get into that suit? Does the top tuck into the the hot pants, or is it all one piece?” He kept his voice low and took his previous discomfort from being stared at, directing it back at the now-blushing hero.

“I um-- well it’s--” Superman didn’t quite leap back from him, and Bruce felt secure now that he was on the offensive.

Idly, Bruce wondered how far down that blush reached before he backpedaled his thoughts to safer ground, away from distractions.

“Bruce! Bruce! Roy wanted to-- whoa.” Dick skidded to a stop just behind Bruce, peering around his side. He was standing where he would if he were hiding under Batman’s cape, one hand in the small of Bruce’s back and one on his side. Bruce messed up his ward’s hair in retaliation for the thin excuse he’d used to meet Clark out of the Robin uniform. Dick caught his hand with a squawk before stage whispering, “Is that Superman?”

“Why hello,” Superman crouched down to be closer to Dick’s height and the boy snuck a bit farther behind Bruce, playing up his cover’s shyness as he fixed his hair.

“Dickie, this is Superman, Superman, Dick Grayson, my ward,” Dick was playing shy, but he wasn’t actually afraid, a hand on his neck gave Bruce a good sense of his pulse as he pushed the boy forward a bit to greet the hero.

“HiSummanI’mDickGrayson,” He blurted, Bruce couldn’t tell if the blush was real or faked but he offered his hand to shake and it didn’t waver.

“You can call me Kal if I can call you Dick?” Superman’s smile was genuine and designed to put people at ease. Bruce found himself irrationally pleased that the hero was being kind to his ward. That was dangerous territory, but Bruce had a soft spot for people who didn’t treat the orphaned like they were diseased.

“You can call me Dick, Mister Kal,” Dick mumbled quietly with another blush. The interaction had thankfully caused the other viewers to wander away toward more interesting conversation.

“Are you enjoying the party, Dick?” Superman asked with another toothy midwestern grin, a bit of an accent peeking through his words.

“Yeah, it’s cool because--” Dick gasped loudly, “Roy! You have to meet Roy!” He grabbed the hand closest to him and pulled Superman with him across the floor in search of the Queens. Bruce moved to follow-- he wanted to keep watch over Dick’s interactions with Clark-- when his arm was grabbed and something decidedly gun-like was pressed into his back.

“Cute kid you have there. Shame if anything happened to him. Follow me.” A low voice growled into his ear. Bruce bristled at the threat before he carefully relaxed, putting all of his effort into being a useless socialite.

“Okay,” Bruce shrugged, loosening his shoulders further as he was led out a balcony door. He was impatient, hoping they would hurry up and take him to the second location so he could slip his bonds. Bruce occupied himself by imagining how satisfying it would be to break every bone in the gunman’s arm for threatening Dick to get him to comply. Bruce had to wait, though. He needed to know how big this operation was and how to stop more from coming for Dick before he could let the bat out. This wasn’t the first time Bruce Wayne had been kidnapped and it was almost certainly not going to be the last time. 

“Are we going anywhere in particular?” Bruce asked pleasantly as his hands were inexpertly bound by another man who had been waiting outside the ballroom door, just shy of the drying puddle the downspout had made during the earlier storm.

“We’re going to go have a talk about a good friend of yours. We know Batman uses WayneTech gear.” The voice growled again.

Well... that was new.

###

Clark forced himself not to wince as the mayor gave an overlong speech about heroism that was clearly pointed at Gotham’s dark protector. The man was brash and kind of a jerk, but what he was doing, breaking up the crime families, tearing corrupt politicians down, it was working in a way nothing else had. Thankfully, he was seated at a table where the only way to get a word in edgewise was to interrupt the mayor’s boastful talk, so he sat quietly by Commissioner Gordon (who had _winked_ at him when they saw their placards sitting side by side and what did that even mean? Had he passed some strange Gothamite muster that he didn’t know about?) and idly listened through the room.

Sex, money, look at me-- no one was talking about anything of interest. Clark did another sweep, half-tempted to pull out the phone he kept for doing Kal-El’s business and play solitaire when he caught a strange sound. He had almost missed it, a heartbeat with a strange cadence, a slow crawl of about forty-five beats a minute. In a room full of hearts he could usually pick out the beat of someone he knew well, and everyone he knew tended to hover in a range between sixty and a hundred beats, but this heart was thudding along almost lazily, like it couldn’t be bothered to go any faster. 

He scanned the room, trying to zero in on the anomaly, but he kept zeroing in on the same person, Bruce Wayne. He wondered idly if the man had a condition that he had somehow kept from the press, or if he worked out a surprising amount. Clark didn’t think Bruce Wayne was the running type, but as he looked the other man over, it was clear through his fitted suit that he was well-built. As Clark categorized the curve of bicep under italian silk he realized that Bruce was looking back at him, grayish blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. Clark glanced away, but as soon as he lost interest in the mayor’s most recent anecdote he found himself back again, staring at Bruce and listening to his relaxingly slow heartbeat. He was almost pleased that after the fifth time he had been caught staring, Bruce had retreated to the back of the room, out of eyesight for now.

As people started to mill around after dinner, Clark was passed from socialite to socialite, enduring gossip he didn’t care for about people he didn’t know, reminding himself nearly every minute that it was for a _good cause_. 

“Oh and Mister Kal-El you just _have_ to meet Brucie!” He was torn from his mantra of ‘for the children’ by the blonde that had been talking him up taking him by the arm and nearly dragging him toward the man he had been caught staring at throughout the entire dinner. Mr. Wayne smiled as they came over; Clark doubted anyone in the room hadn’t heard her gleeful cry.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr...?” He smiled, feigning ignorance

“Why, this is Bruce Wayne; his mother is the namesake of the foundation!” The woman answered, releasing his arm so Clark could shake hands.

“Guilty as charged. Bruce Wayne, at your service.” The smile he got was some mix of casual and somehow knowing. Clark smiled back until the look turned into a full body sweep that made him wish he’d gone with a looser costume design, wind resistance be damned.

“Is it true what the Daily Planet said? Are you really an alien?” Clark had a feeling he wasn’t the only one playing a bit dumb.

“Yes, I am, but I was raised in America,” he assured Bruce and any others who might be listening in, only now realizing that they were more or less alone in this corner of the room. The nearest person to them was tables away, outside of normal human hearing over the general din of music and people. The French doors were open, letting the cool night breeze seep in and lending a further sense of isolation as the silence from outside seemed to permeate the air around them.

“Hmm. I wonder... How do you get into that suit? Does the top tuck into the the hot pants, or is it all one piece?” Clark was torn from his contemplation of the room as the warm rumble of Bruce Wayne’s voice shivered down his spine. Bruce smelled good, like clean skin and expensive cologne, and while Clark wasn’t exactly sure when he had gotten _right there_ it took a lot of effort to remember that he probably ought to mind. Clark could feel the blush blooming on his cheeks as he stepped back, Bruce’s voice coiling warm in his gut. Bruce’s lazy heartbeat hadn’t sped or slowed, a fact he realized only because he was oddly drawn to the sound. His flush deepened a bit with embarrassment as Ma piped into his conscience and told him that people don’t like it when he knew more about their excitement than he did.

“I um-- well it’s--” He stumbled for words. A tiny quickening of Bruce’s heartrate caught Clark’s attention briefly (because he hadn’t been able to convince himself to stop listening in), but he didn’t have time to question it before they were interrupted.

“Bruce! Bruce! Roy wanted to-- whoa.” His tiny savior dodged behind Bruce at the last minute, bright cobalt blue eyes peeking at Clark. With a real-looking smile Bruce ran his hand quickly over the kid’s hair, mussing it. The boy caught the hand with a distressed sound before whispering, “Is that Superman?”

“Why hello,” Superman got closer to the kid’s level: he had learned a while back that kids didn’t like to be talked at from more than double their own height. The kid took a second to straighten his wrecked hair before Bruce pushed him forward with a light hand on his neck.

“Dickie, this is Superman, Superman, Dick Grayson, my ward,” Bruce’s voice was warmer now, more real.

“HiSummanI’mDickGrayson,” The kid, Dick, shoved his hand forward to shake, blushing furiously. 

“You can call me Kal if I can call you Dick?” He smiled his best dealing-with-kids smile and accepted his tiny, firm handshake.

“You can call me Dick, Mister Kal,” Dick mumbled quietly, his face growing darker as he blushed more.

“Are you enjoying the party, Dick?” he asked, cementing the tenuous bond.

“Yeah, it’s cool because--” Dick gasped, “Roy! You have to meet Roy!” In an unexpected turn of events, Dick grabbed Clark’s hand and hauled him away-- he was surprisingly strong-- in search of his friend Roy.

Clark hadn’t been expecting Roy to be a redheaded kid adopted by Oliver Queen. The same Oliver Queen who had said that having a sidekick was beneath him. The very same Oliver Queen who had been photographed recently as the Green Arrow with a kid in red who sported a very yellow Robin Hood style hat that mimicked Oliver’s own green hat almost perfectly. In fact, the whole uniform was nearly a perfect-- though differently colored-- replica, down to the red bow and arrows.

“Busted,” Ollie huffed under his breath as Clark raised his eyebrow during introductions. Roy and Dick had seemingly dematerialized from under them, leaving Clark and Ollie to hold their discarded dessert plates. Clark set down the tiny china plate he had been relegated to holding and put his arm amicably around Oliver’s shoulders, leading him to the now completely empty corner where he had met Bruce Wayne.

“So those rumors were ridiculous, huh?” Clark asked.

“Of course. He isn’t my sidekick, he’s my protege. My partner.” Oliver groaned, “You wouldn’t understand because what you do can’t be taught, but he’s good; he’s fast and he’s got this intuition you wouldn’t believe, and he’s smart-- you’d like him Cla- Kal. You’d like him a lot.”

“I thought we agreed _against_ sidekicks?” Clark huffed, having spotted the boys a few tables away. Their heads were close, and they were laughing and poking at a phone screen. Roy looked too young for vigilantism, though Clark could see he was about to hit a growth spurt.

Oliver made a noncommittal sound, glancing around on the other side of the room. “You seen Bruce in the last few minutes? It isn’t like him to run off for closet fun-times when he’s got Dick with him.”

“Closet fun-times?” Clark asked, cocking his head incredulously.

“What? It’s a room full of professionally beautiful people in a building with a lot of large empty rooms. If you had grown up with these people, you’d be getting as much entertainment as you could out of them, too.” Oliver justified. “It’s just usually if we need to take off or something, I’ll ask Bruce if Roy can stay over or vice versa, give us a chance to stay relevant in the tabloids without the headline being ‘billionaire abandons child.’”

“I get why Oliver Queen needs to stay a playboy name, but since when does Bruce Wayne need any help with that?”

“Since he has a teenaged ward? I dunno, the kids like to hang out, half the time it’s just Roy and Dick angling to get a sleepover at whichever house has the newer game console. Seriously though, it’s been almost 10 minutes since I saw Bruce last.” Oliver looked worried.

“You watch the kids, I’ll find him. He’s probably just making out with some starlet,” Clark assured him, eyeing the open door to the veranda. On impulse he listened for the now-familiar heartbeat, finding it after a few moments, still strong and close by.

“Tie his hands tighter M, we don’t need him trying to escape or nothin’!” a gruff voice said, and Clark was out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's only one more chapter in this segment, and that should be up in roundabouts a week ^_^
> 
> Thank you to TheLiterator for the beta!

“Well gosh guys, lots of people use WayneTech; we’re the industry leader for smart phones.” Bruce smiled brightly as he was led by the pair of thugs down the stairs to the gardens. 

He needed to find out how much they actually knew about what Dick had dubbed ‘the Bat-Gear.’ He _also_ needed to beat the hell out of the guy who had threatened his ward. He flexed his wrist impatiently and felt the binding give, leaving him holding the rope to keep his hands behind his back convincingly.

“Where’s M with the damn car?” The second man hissed as they made their way across the manicured grass of the gardens toward the road. A beat up sedan (gray, 1990, civic, probably stolen) rolled up to the curb, driven by a block of muscle who Bruce figured was M. The men spoke with slight Eastern Bloc accents, but Bruce didn’t think it was the Russian Mafia out for Batman, they tended to stay away from Gotham, keeping where they could be big fish in less heavily saturated ponds.

“Damn it, the rope broke! M, bring the backup!” The gunman huffed. Bruce resisted tapping his toe with impatience, this kidnapping was taking forever and he had plans later tonight. M hustled around the car and began twining parachute cording around Bruce’s wrists. 

“Tie his hands tighter M, we don’t need him trying to escape or nothin’!” The second man chastised, probably trying to cover for the fact that it was his tying that had failed the first time.

With a bluster of wind and the snap of a red cape, the cord holding Bruce’s wrists was gone, and the three men were struggling to pull their hands away from the binding holding their right arms all together at the elbows.

“Are you okay, Mister Wayne?” Superman asked, hovering slightly off the ground. Bruce realized he did that when he was nervous. 

An irrational urge to punch his would-be-savior in the face was quashed by the tiny cry of “Bruce!” as Dick barreled away from Oliver and Roy who were standing near the door, passing Commissioner Gordon who at least had the good decency to look annoyed. Tiny steel bars wrapped directly around his diaphragm, winding him and effectively silencing anything Bruce would have said in reply. Gordon called a squad car for the goons and talked to Superman as Bruce focused on the presence of witnesses to stop himself from figuring out how to disembowel a Kryptonian with terrible timing.

“Do you want me to take Dick for the night?” Oliver asked, pressing a tumbler of whiskey into Bruce’s hand.

“He’s grounded anyhow, and I don’t have much to do tonight, the boys can stay at the manor if you had plans before.” Bruce shrugged.

“But Roy has our most recent Super Smash Bros save file…” Dick considered.

“Yeah, but you guys have the Blurays of the original Star Wars trilogy…” Roy rebutted.

“But _treehouse_.” Dick pointed at Roy.

“The treehouse is pretty sick,” Roy agreed.

“Sounds like I’ll take them for the night?” Oliver asked with a grin.

“Just remember about the grounding,” Bruce told Dick.

“I know, I know, and hey, at least I’m not the only one grounded,” Dick and Roy snickered, glancing meaningfully at the rule-breaking visitor in Gotham. Bruce rolled his eyes as Oliver led the boys away and swished some whiskey around his mouth before he dumped the lot into a bush. He figured he had another 20 minutes of being helpless recently rescued Brucie before he could put some fear of the Bat into an inordinately powerful alien. That should be interesting, at least.

###

4:53 AM, Gotham City. 

Superman was late in his exit.

Clark had put a rather drunk, slightly grabby Bruce Wayne into a cab about a half hour ago, and-- after being stared at inscrutably by the Gotham City Police Commissioner for an overlong time-- Superman had made his excuses and gotten the hell out of dodge, ducking into his hotel room to change back into mild-mannered Clark Kent. He was tempted to skip sleeping, grab his suitcase and fly back to Metropolis, maybe skim down to the southern hemisphere for some sun.

“You know,” A voice spoke from the kitchenette as Clark slid his window shut, “I went over the surveillance footage of your conversation with Robin on the roof, and you seemed pretty clear on the terms of this agreement.” In a split-second decision Clark x-rayed the room, revealing a heavily armored man with a lead-lined face mask leaning casually against the counter.

Once Clark got his respiration under control he flicked the bedside lamp on, illuminating just enough of the room that he could barely catch the inky outline of Batman oozing into the shadows like a boogeyman. “I could have killed you.” Clark said once he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack.

“You could have tried.” Batman corrected, his arrogance causing Clark to grit his teeth.

“Why are you even here? You didn’t deign to speak to me when I was _asking for permission_ to be in your godforsaken city,” Clark gritted out. Maybe he was more tired than he realized; a tiny voice in the back of his head was telling him the rational thing to do was calm down, but he was just getting angrier the more he thought about it. “I got a list of rules from a preteen in tights which, by the way, is the _worst_ kind of endangerment I can think of, who lets a _child_ fight criminals?!” The little voice of reason was screaming now.

“You agreed to the terms Robin gave you.” Batman repeated, “And you broke them. Spectacularly.”

“I saved Bruce Wayne from being kidnapped!” Clark snapped, wincing when he heard the volume of his own words.

“No heroics.” Batman repeated, his voice infuriatingly calm.

“He could have been killed. He was being _kidnapped_.” Clark insisted at a more reasonable volume.

“Bruce Wayne agreed to be kidnapped to get information on the kidnappers. The next time they try this it could be Richard Grayson that they take instead, and we might not be fast enough to get him before _he_ gets killed. Or worse.”

“Expelled?” Clark added under his breath, regretting it immediately.

“Is this a game to you?” Batman snapped, “Watching the mortals scramble about under your feet like some idiotic god-child with a hardon for truth, justice, and the so-called American way?” Emotion had finally seeped into his voice, but Clark found he missed the aloof tone when faced with this growling anger. “You question my work with Robin then immediately show no remorse when your actions put a child at a higher risk--”

“Maybe if you had told me the plan I could have--”

“What, I could have trusted you with a plan? I couldn’t even trust you with two simple conditions. If you had stuck with the terms that _you agreed to_ , Richard Grayson wouldn’t be at risk.” Clark had no rebuttal. He half expected Batman to head to the window (part of him was actually pretty certain the vigilante would simply evaporate into a ball of smoke in the impending dawn) but instead he stalked out the door, pausing as his cape swished through. “You know, in that mountain resort club you call a league, you work with no fewer than three heroes who have teenaged proteges. Clean up your act at home before you attack me in mine. Get out of Gotham and I’ll make sure the Mayor loses your number.” With an amazing amount of self control, Batman closed the door almost gently, the click no louder in the room than necessary. 

Clark sank to the bed and buried his face in his hands. That... could have gone better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Chapter 5/5 of the second installment, betaed by the lovely TheLiterator, with all remaining mistakes belonging to me.

“Of all the vapid, fatuous, asinine _heroes_ out there I had to get stuck with the inveterate _boy scout_ who can’t even follow a simple damned directive!” Bruce threw his gauntlet at the lockered wall of the changing room, suppressing a cringe when it clattered noisily to the floor.

One more thing he had to fix.

“Master Bruce if you could, in fact, restrain yourself from destroying your equipment and instead talk about it, you might feel better about this fit come the morrow.” Alfred stepped out of nowhere, scooped up the gauntlet, and stared expectantly at the Bruce. Unlike the criminal underbelly of Gotham, the butler was not deterred by the unblinking white lenses in the cowl. 

“You’re right, Alfred.” Bruce sighed and pushed off the offending headgear, dropping his other gauntlet gently against the bench. He had stopped being surprised when Alfred snuck up on him years ago; the man seemed to sense Bruce’s moods from a distance, knowing exactly when to talk, when to listen, and when to wait. Bruce was halfway out of the kevlar overvest when he spoke, hoping for a level of flippancy he wasn’t sure he’d be able to reach, “Do you think I’m doing wrong by Dick? Letting him be Robin?”

“I have long made my peace with the fact that Master Dick doesn’t go out into the Gotham nights to fight crime because you allow it, Master Bruce; he comes back every night because you watch over him as he does.” Alfred chided, hanging the armor as it was passed to him. “Do you remember how he used to sneak back to Gotham the first week he was in the manor?” 

Bruce sighed, remembering the first time Dick Grayson had met Batman, “He nearly got shot the first time he stepped into the North neighborhoods.”

“At the beginning I will admit that I had doubts, but it is good for him to be out there, and it’s good for you too. It helps you remember what you’re fighting for, keeps you grounded when he’s out with you.” Alfred paused. “Why do you ask?”

"Just a bad night, that's all." Bruce lied.

"And the fatuous boy scout?" Alfred wasn't so easily deterred.

Bruce snorted. "You saw the news, I was halfway kidnapped when he bumbled in; it put Dick at risk. He's got a more rigid schedule. School is an excellent place to kidnap someone, and it’s harder to guard."

"It sounds like being Bruce Wayne's ward is far more dangerous than being Robin at present." Alfred tutted.

"That's what I said. We... disagreed."

"I thought you didn't care for Mr. Kent's approval." Alfred didn't quite ask.

"I didn't. Don't. I don't need his blessing to fight crime and neither does Dick." 

"Well then it's settled, you're not upset. How silly of me." Alfred paused, waiting as Bruce sorted out what he wanted to say.

“How does he get along with everyone I’ve ever worked with and not with… He goes along with Aquaman’s plans and follows Flash’s lead in the field, he gets along with _Green Arrow_. I just..." He was stymied.

On the one hand, he didn't need anyone's permission to put on the cowl, or to give Dick a chance to fly in memory of his parents, but on the other hand it could be nice to have another ally, especially one so respected by other heroes.

"I'll make some tea for you," Alfred announced when it became clear Bruce wasn't going to continue, "While you were out Mr. Queen called to let you know that Green Arrow is staying in tonight so that he can watch over the boys, and you received a missive from one Barry Allen offering to board Master Dick until this situation blows over."

"I owe him one, but I'll feel better if I can monitor the situation up close. It'd be a shame to put Wally at risk as well." Bruce stripped off the last layer of Batman and headed for the shower, wondering why he was so invested in Superman's approval. Over half of the super club were on his (and Robin's) side already; Flash and Oliver kept begging Batman to join if only to shore up the security protocols and Green Lantern was insufferable around the younger heroes, setting himself up as the beloved uncle of the next generation. Bruce didn't need Superman as a friend.

He almost had himself convinced as he sipped his chamomile tea.

Almost.

###

Clark pressed the doorbell button at the ostentatious mini-castle Oliver had been staying in more regularly the last few months. He realized now that Oliver was staying at the mansion instead of the loft in the city because he wanted Roy to have more space. He grumbled internally about how bad of a friend he had been if he hadn’t noticed the man restructure his life around a new child, but he’d really just assumed Oliver was dating someone who took a lot of time.

“Clark!” Oliver smiled, answering the door with a flourish, standing aside so Clark could enter “I’d invite you to movie night but the boys passed out halfway through the first one. Coffee instead?” He led the way to the kitchen.

“How’d you know?” Clark asked, a tiny piece of him relaxing with the familiarity, the tension noticed only by its lack.

“Well it’s nearly six in the morning, so you either just woke up or got stuck talking to the GCPD all night. You look tired so it’s probably the latter which is bad enough, but then I’m sure you got _a visit_ and you don’t look like it was an invitation for post patrol batcookies with Batman and Robin so you’re probably here to vent. You can’t get drunk, so: coffee.” Oliver’s directness was refreshing.

“Robin isn’t getting post patrol _batcookies_ right now either, he got benched.” Clark huffed, watching with mild interest as Oliver prepped the futuristic caffeine contraption made of brushed aluminum and textured black steel. Eventually there was the hiss of boiling water and coffee started to drizzle into clean white cups.

“I heard he was on probationary status for unsporting conduct and disrespecting a hero.” Ollie passed him a mug and made a sweeping gesture at the sugar and creamer on the counter, “From what I understand it was a dressing-down for the history books, worse than the one he had when Batman had to drag him home with a bullet in his thigh, back before he was Robin.”

“He’s been shot?” Clark heard his voice before he really registered the thought.

Ollie took a long draw of his black coffee and stared at him levelly. “ _That_ is what you took from my story? Robin calls Speedy earlier today terrified that Batman’s going to take his cape because _Batman respects you as a hero_ and all you can focus on is the fact that before he ever wore a cape the kid was shot?”

“Batman doesn’t respect me as a hero, he treats me like a child at every turn!” Clark snapped.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you _act_ like a child around him? I understand the man can be hard to work with but he’s rarely wrong. You got the same speech about heroics as I did, but I didn’t break the rules, neither did Speedy, an _actual child_.” In Clark’s silence, Oliver continued, “You have _x-ray vision_ but you can’t see through your own bullshit enough to know when your wounded pride is creating a toxic situation.” 

Clark was pretty sure he had a counter argument, but he couldn’t find the words to make a more succinct point than ‘nuh uh.’

Clark avoided eye contact with Ollie as he stirred his coffee. Oliver took that as an invitation to continue. “At one point Batman called a fifteen-year-old chemistry prodigy to consult on a case. I’ve seen him trust the snap decisions of a ten-year-old in the field and I have never, ever seen him disregard a child’s words. If you think Batman treats you like a child, maybe take a look at how much he respects children before being offended about it.”

“Errwun knows Batman’ssa myth.” A sleepy young voice slurred from the doorway. Clark froze as Dick Grayson stumbled into the room in oversized red plaid pajamas, veering toward the brightly colored row of cereal boxes by the fridge. “No contacts in, s’friend or foe?” He mumbled at Oliver as he jabbed a thumb toward Clark.

“This is Clark, he’s a friend.” Oliver assured as the teen squinted at his rapidly filling cereal bowl. “Why are you up, anyhow?” Clark wanted to know that too, but more importantly he wanted to get back to the discussion about how somehow Batman-- the hero widely regarded as the most efficient, if not the best vigilante in the business by anyone who had ever worked with him-- respected him and he’d missed it.

“Some headlines hit in the night, society pages are going on about how Bruce’s attempted kidnapping was a cover story and I was actually taken, now I have to make a bunch of paparazos happy by doing rich kid stuff all day." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed them the screen emblazoned ‘BOTCHED BILLIONAIRE KIDNAPPING COVERING FOR HIS MISSING WARD?’ before sliding to another site demanding ‘WHERE IS GRAYSON-WAYNE?’ Clark recognized the Daily Planet header from the second site and felt his ears burn with embarrassment. Dick slumped onto a stool with a huff, "I was gonna do my English paper today, too."

"Alfred coming to pick you up?" Ollie asked.

"He's bringing Bruce, we're gonna sightsee in Starling to throw off anyone who _actually_ wants to kidnap me." Dick said between enormous bites of cereal.

“This’ll be Bruce,” Oliver pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket as he walked to the french doors leading to the yard, “I’ll be right back.”

Clark looked around the kitchen hoping to find something to comment on in Oliver’s absence. He was about to fall back on the weather as a safe topic when he noticed that the crunching of cereal had stopped. Dick had his head on the counter next to his half filled bowl, his breathing deep and even and his eyes closed. The boy was completely asleep.

###

"I can keep him for a few days if you're that worried..." Oliver offered the positively exhausted sounding man on the other end of the phone.

"That'll just make the rags get louder, but thank you Ollie."

"We billionaires have to stick together, right?" Oliver joked.

"Indeed," Bruce at least had the good grace to sound amused, "I'll see you in an hour."

Oliver spotted Clark coming out the back door as he was hitting the red button. "Hey, everything okay in there?"

"Oh, yeah, he fell asleep at the counter." Clark looked a bit more miserable than he had when he'd shown up at Oliver's door. "I kind of feel like this whole thing is my fault."

Oliver thought maybe he was growing as a person when he didn't simply snap agree with the Kryptonian.

"You did what you thought was right with the information you had at hand," he offered instead, watching as Clark wrestled with that idea, looking for words. Batman was good for these kinds of dilemmas, keeping just enough details close to the vest that it's hard to tell if it's his fault for not sharing or yours for failing to discern that there was a plan in motion. Or in this particular case some inspired improvisation.

"How do you apologize to a secretive, impossible to find, possibly mythical vigilante?" Clark pushed a hand through his hair, ruffling it enough that it almost fell into his face, hinting at his alter ego.

"You give him information, or an invitation to work in your city if he needs it. You give him space, which is the hardest part, because most people like to check up on their apologies, but the last thing you need is Batman feeling like you're checking up on him." Oliver thought for a moment, "You could give him a beacon, but he probably won't like the implication that he'll need your help one day, but he's pragmatic enough to understand that pride is a bad reason to cut potential ties. I dunno, you'll figure it out, just don't show up in the batcave with a fruit basket, he hates that."

"A fruit basket?" Clark looked like Oliver had slipped into Urdu mid sentence.

"Apparently not everybody likes fruit baskets, how was I supposed to know?!" Oliver said, remembering the look of angry confusion melting into stupefied bafflement on Bruce's face as he let Oliver out of the nets the alarm system had tangled him in. 

"So information and no fruit baskets. I think I can do something with that." Clark nodded. "Do you mind?" He pointed up, "It's just faster."

"Fly away, we're far enough out of town," Oliver waved Clark away, watching him fade into the predawn before walking back into the house. Dick was sitting on the counter in jeans and a fitted button down shirt, halfway through a cup of coffee, playing on his phone.

"Think they'll make up?" Dick asked, spearing Oliver with a sharp, almost Robin look.

"Search me; I'll just be glad when they leave me out of it." Oliver shrugged, making himself another cup of coffee and sitting at the bar near the boy wonder. He kind of hoped they would make up; it would be a partnership for the ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll start the third installment soon ^_^


End file.
